


The Devil Comes

by Multiple_Universes



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Angst, Burlesque AU, Confident Katsuki Yuuri, Eros Katsuki Yuuri, Fashion & Couture, Fluff, Foursome, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Katsuki Yuuri in Lingerie, M/M, Sexy Katsuki Yuuri, Smut, Stripper Katsuki Yuuri, devil wears prada au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-08 14:11:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14107077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multiple_Universes/pseuds/Multiple_Universes
Summary: Summary: Runway magazine invites Eros for a photoshoot celebrating Victoria’s Secret’s 40th birthday, reuniting him with Victor Nikiforov, the editor of the magazine, once more. It just so happens that the last time they saw each other was their first (and last) date and, as dates go, it was full of mixed signals. Was Eros just messing with Victor, or is there something else going on?This is a meeting between Yuuri Katsuki from my ficComes Loveand Victor Nikiforov from my ficThe Devil Wears Gucci, but can be read without reading either of those two fics.





	1. The Master of Seduction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ladyofthefl0wers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyofthefl0wers/gifts).



> Remember how I said I have no self-control? Yeah, this is further proof. On the bright side, I know what chapters 1 to 3 will be about, so it's only a little detour and then I can get back to updating my other WIPs. In theory.
> 
> This is also my present for Ladyofthefl0wers, whose birthday it is today! Happy birthday! Thanks for putting up with all my nonsense! (Also, let's be honest, if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have posted this fic at all.)

Victoria’s Secret was turning 40 and _Runway_ was doing a special photoshoot to celebrate. This meant getting the best of the best and who was a better candidate for advertising lingerie than the master of seduction himself? They didn’t just send an official invitation, either. They sent first class tickets and booked a room in a five-star hotel.

For the first time in a long time a big crowd gathered outside the Elias-Clarke building. Victor eyed them distastefully through the window of his office, holding several slats of the blinds up with his fingers.

Were they really all here for _him_? It wasn’t a question that needed asking: he knew about the really dedicated fanbase.

It was no big deal. It was just like doing a photoshoot with another celebrity and he’d done plenty of those before. Just another celebrity.

He turned away and called his assistant in for some last-minute instructions.

They went down in the elevator together and he waited in an office just above the main entrance.

A million screams filled the air and he couldn’t stop himself from walking to the window and peering out again.

A car drove up to the main entrance. The chauffeur ran out and opened the door, holding it with a slight bow. Victor imagined he could hear the man say something like, “We’ve arrived, sir.”

A tall dark-haired man in a well-tailored suit stepped out as if he was stepping onto the red carpet at the Oscars. His foot came out first, dressed in a glittery, black high-heeled shoe and then the rest of him followed, sleek and cat-like, every movement graceful and controlled. He knew they were all watching and even this exit was a kind of show. He turned and waved at the gathered crowd.

The screams grew louder. Someone’s voice drowned out everyone else’s. “We love you, Eros!”

He blew them a kiss and someone fainted.

Eros walked on, stopping every few steps to give out autographs or smile for photos. He flirted and winked. He posed for the cameras on people’s phones, one shoulder playfully raised. He treated them the same way he would treat professional cameras, Victor was sure.

Victor could make his suit out better now. It was all black, broken only by the white of his shirt. Well-tailored was putting it mildly when it came to a suit that followed every curve of the man’s body, showing off his best parts and he knew what those best parts were, there was no doubt about it.

 

_A long deep red dress lay discarded on the floor. A shirt had fallen over it along with a pair of pants…_

Victor turned away from the window and walked into the studio. He watched everyone run around like mad, preparing everything. They ran like headless chickens, getting in each other’s way, all in too much of a rush to get everything ready to pay attention to where they were going.

Eros entered the photoshoot studio. He arrived like a monarch, no, like a god who expected to be worshipped by everyone without exception. They all flocked to him and he gave them all his smile, as always knowing how to make each of them feel special, make them all believe the smile was for each of them personally.

Victor stayed back. He wasn’t directing this photoshoot. He let others do that.

“Where do you want me?” Eros asked and got an enthusiastic, “everywhere!” in response.

 

_He lay on several pillows, but that didn’t matter. He could’ve been on a bed of nails and still he wouldn’t have traded his spot for anything in the world…_

 

Eros winked. “Of course! And I suppose I should get rid of all these annoying clothes?”

He played with them all like he always played with his audience. He knew he could get them to do whatever he wanted and they loved him all the more for it.

 

_Victor gripped the bedsheets as he felt the first push. Two hands were on his hips, holding him in place determined not to let him go, but it wasn’t a painful touch, after all this was all about pleasure. He gasped…_

The jacket slipped off Eros’s shoulders revealing that the shirt under it hadn’t been a shirt at all, but a trick. He stood with his bare back open and showing to everyone, the jacket hanging from his elbows and smiled.

“More!” someone exclaimed and the others joined in.

He wanted to look away. He didn’t want to see any of this. _I don’t really have to be here,_ he thought. _Let my assistant deal with this._

 

_And just as he was preparing himself to beg for the first time in his life, fighting down all his pride, reminding himself that only one other person would hear this, it was over. Eros pulled away, brushing lightly against his thighs._

_Victor lowered his head and looked at Eros. “Don’t…” He’d never sounded this broken before, never once in his life, not even when he’d faced defeat. He licked his dry lips. “Don’t go…”_

_Eros leaned over him and pressed his lips against Victor’s damp cheek. “There’s someone waiting for me,” he whispered…_

There he was now, flirting with them as he unzipped his pants and lowered them to enthusiastic screams. If it had been anyone else, they would’ve shouted about scandals and inappropriate behaviour, but it was Eros and he had them eating out of the palm of his hand.

He bent down to take his pants off and then gave them all a smile that said that he knew exactly where all their eyes were looking. At him, of course!

Now he was in a thong and sheer stockings that went halfway up his thighs. His fingers slid over the strap around his waist, as if checking that it was still there. “I’m ready,” he said in a voice that suggested that it wasn’t just modelling that he was ready for.

Someone fainted.

No, it was no good. Now even Victor was staring. Keeping his face carefully neutral, Victor looked at his assistant. “This is just a waste of time,” he said in frustration. “Make sure Emil has everything he needs. I have other photoshoots to plan. And don’t forget my coffee, Yuri.”

Eros turned and their eyes met. He didn’t shy away from that gaze. He let his eyes gloss over the man, as if he wasn’t interested, as if this was just another model who was just doing their job. There wasn’t the merest spark of recognition in Eros’s eyes, but that didn’t matter. Not anymore.

Victor walked out. They all parted for him and someone even ran ahead to hold the door open, but it only made him angrier.

 _Cheater_ , he thought, biting his lips as he stepped into the elevator. _Heartbreaker!_

_The first time they ran into each other was two years ago._

_The famous burlesque dancer Eros was in New York for one night only and Victor, feeling bored and a little curious, bought a ticket (and it wasn’t a cheap ticket, but that wasn’t important)._

_He hadn’t expected much. He certainly hadn’t expected to see the glamorous figure on the stage demonstrating the best lingerie fashion had to offer from every possible angle. He also didn’t expect his whole body to react the way it had._

_The editor of_ Runway _had seen models try to be seductive and shrugged his shoulders, but when Eros pulled a silk stocking off with one leg raised behind him, he struggled to breathe._

_Eros lay in a giant martini glass, his body half-submerged in the water, a giant fake olive under the small of his back and Victor felt as if he was melting._

_Eros rose, the two Swarovski pasties glittering on his chest, and squeezed water out of the olive and down over his body, every line of which was absolutely flawless. That was when Victor knew he had to go and introduce himself._

_When the show was done he slipped money into the pocket of a security guard to be allowed through to talk to the great Eros. Just talk, nothing more, he promised._

_He expected Eros to brush him off, to turn him away politely, having had enough of annoying fans. He hadn’t expected Eros to greet him with a happy smile and a familiar kiss on the cheek._

_“Good evening, darling,” he whispered into Victor’s ear, a hand resting on each of Victor’s arms._

_Victor struggled for words. There were bare shoulders right next to him, not covered at all by a lace peignoir that kept slipping down to the elbows._

_Luckily, he’d thought to grab flowers before coming here: seven deep red roses to match the performer’s seductive nature. He held these flowers out now and got another kiss in exchange._

_“You spoil me, darling,” Eros whispered, trailing one hand over Victor’s cheek. “I promise to spoil you in return tonight.”_

_A shiver worked its way up his spine, but he kept smiling and held out an arm. “I know a wonderful place: the best restaurant in all of New York.”_

_Eros’s arm slipped around his. “I’d tell you to lead the way, but I think you want me to get dressed first.”_

_He nodded numbly and prepared himself for a wait._

_Victor had dated before, of course, but it took a long time for him to get to the stage where he felt he was ready to get into bed with his lover._

_That night all it took was a dinner and a slow dance._

_He’d never had a date like Eros and he was convinced that no one out there could even hope to come close to him. No one could just ooze a seductive air like he did and as effortlessly as he did._

_Eros smiled at Victor and let his knee brush against the editor’s. He held his hand across the table and then asked for a dance._

_Eros was in a long dress that was a shade of red that didn’t exist anywhere else but on him. No one else could make red look the way he did._

_He rose to his feet, tossed his skirts about him and then beckoned Victor after him with his finger._

_And Victor followed. He followed, forgetting about the unfinished meal and about everything. He followed, forgetting his own name. In that moment he would’ve followed over the edge of a cliff, if Eros had asked._

_What words could describe the dance that followed? Maybe they danced to one song, maybe a dozen, he didn’t know. All he knew was that Eros held him close and they moved slowly, sinking together._

_Victor could barely breathe._

_Eros slid his hand over Victor’s chest and gazed into his eyes._

_It was – oh hell! – it wasn’t a dance. It was pure sex._

_He had no memory of how they got to his apartment, or of what Eros had said when Victor invited him over. After all, that memory wasn’t important. Unlike the memories that followed._

_Try as he might, he would never forget the way Eros looked into his eyes when he pushed him against the wall the moment the doors closed behind them. Victor’s knees buckled under him and he was sure he would burn from that expression alone._

_He could still remember Eros’s smell, and the way he smiled as he undressed Victor and insisted that he preferred undressing others to undressing himself. Victor lay on the bed as Eros undid his belt and unzipped his pants._

_Eros took his right hand and planted little kisses on his knuckles. Victor closed his eyes and breathed heavily._

_And then Eros stopped. Victor waited for whatever would happen next, but when no noises and no sensations followed Victor opened his eyes._

_Eros was studying Victor’s hands closely. Then he raised his eyes and took in the sight of Victor’s body sprawled out under him. This wasn’t the look of someone deciding where to strike next. This was the look of someone taking in every detail and mentally cataloguing it._

_And, yet, he could feel himself melting under that stare._ Don’t tease me. I have very little patience for this type of game.

_“Is something wrong?” he asked when it looked like Eros was about to pull away._

_Eros was smiling, but it was an uneasy smile. “Nothing.” He leaned down and rested his arms on Victor’s stomach. “Just admiring how beautiful you are,” he whispered, tracing a circle out on his chest and Victor believed him._

_He was all too aware of how those dark eyes took him in and just how much he wanted, no_ needed _, more. Or how warm (how, very, very warm) the body on top of his was. His own was heating up at an alarming rate._

_“But then again,” Eros whispered, “people probably tell you this all the time. A man like you must have a lot of admirers.” Victor couldn’t help feeling incredibly flattered at those words. “And lovers,” Eros added, sliding a finger down Victor’s left cheek._

_“Yes,” he admitted._

_He did have many lovers and it was only fair, wasn’t it? For some reason it didn’t feel right in that moment._

_Eros sat up._

_“Top drawer,” Victor whispered. Normally he would have been the one grabbing the contents of the top drawer as his lover lay sprawled out on his bed._

_Eros slipped off the bed and Victor watched his hips swing as he walked away._

_He was still dressed in a thong. He had his back to Victor while he retrieved what he needed and, in all honesty, Victor wasn’t about to complain._

_Eros turned around, an item in each hand and stepped away from the dresser._

_Victor held his breath and waited for Eros to remove the one item of clothing he always kept on in public._

_The light fell straight onto Eros as if he was back there on the stage where all the lights were trained on him. Behind him his shadow was draped over the wall. For a moment – was it a trick of the light? – the shadow seemed to move entirely on its own._

_Eros walked towards him, slowly, the sound of his steps muffled by the soft carpet._

_Victor’s heart beat faster in his chest. Eros was right in front of him now. He set everything down on the bed, right between Victor’s legs and reached with both hands for the straps of his thong._

_Victor sat up to watch as Eros pulled it off down two perfect thighs and then let gravity do the rest. Victor reached out and grabbed Eros’s thighs, bringing his face close to the performer’s stomach. He planted a kiss on the perfect skin before him and felt Eros’s hands curl in his hair. His mouth worked its way downwards, getting moans out of the performer._

_He felt something cold between his legs and froze. Then he chucked: he’d completely forgotten where Eros had left everything._

_He pulled away and watched Eros’s expression as he reached between his legs. “Care to do the honours?” he asked, holding a bottle up._

_Eros sat down beside him and took the bottle out of his hands with a little nod. Victor clasped his hands with his own. It was an odd feeling, but he couldn’t help thinking that he’d handed over something other than just lubricant with a silly name._

_He dropped back onto the pillow and listened to Eros unwrapping little packages with a soft tsk of disapproval._

_And there it was: the only moment in the whole evening when Eros showed a bit of clumsiness despite all of Victor’s expectations. Victor actually sat up to watch Eros slip one on both of them. Was it his imagination or did his hands shake?_

_Pretty soon it didn’t matter either way._

_Eros was really something. Each of his touches felt just right. But, then again, was it really that surprising that the master of seduction himself was extremely good in bed?_

_Victor didn’t think so._

_Eros didn’t take his time after that. In fact, he jumped to it quickly enough, taking Victor just the once, and pulling away with an excuse about someone waiting for him._

_Someone was waiting for Eros. Who was it? Would he rush out of the bed of a lover for an elderly parent? Victor wasn’t inclined to believe that._

_And so he lay, ready to fall asleep while Eros took a shower._

_He could remember how fresh and clean Eros looked stepping out of his bathroom, wrapped only in Victor’s towel._

_He didn’t dare look at Eros any longer after that: he just turned away and didn’t say a word when Eros said his goodbye._

_Yes, Victor wasn’t the type to let just anyone into his heart, or into his bed, but he’d made an exception just this once. And, of course, it was the one time when it was a big mistake._

He heard the rumours that went around about Eros. They said he led a double life. He kept his private life carefully hidden and people talked about a secret husband, kept out of the reach of mad fans. Some even claimed they’d seen him. Tall, blonde and very handsome, they said.

Of course, with all the gossip in the press, people kept asking Eros the same question.

 

_“Tell us (the readers are just dying to know): is there someone in Eros’s heart? Is he – oh, the horror! – secretly married?”_

_Eros laughed. “As you know, I like to keep my personal life a secret, as much as possible.”_

That was the answer he gave every time. It could only mean one thing.

“Adulterer,” Victor whispered once he was back in his office. “Adulterer!” he exclaimed louder, wishing, just for a moment, that he could take his anger out on something.

He’d moved on. Two years had gone by, after all. He hadn’t forgotten, but he’d moved on, he’d found other things to think about.

But here he was again: barging into Victor’s life and turning everything inside out.

Victor should’ve called in sick or come up with some other excuse for not coming in that day. He should’ve stayed at home, or gone on a trip somewhere far away. But, no, he stayed here, like a prisoner locked in a tower and worked away on whatever he could find.

He worked away and was grateful for the 40 floors separating him from the studio where Eros was posing for photographs, which were probably suited better for _Playboy_ than _Runway_.

After two hours his door opened. “Ah, Yuri,” he said without looking up from his desk, “coffee would be most welcome right now.”

The visitor cleared his throat. “If you want coffee, you’ll have to find someone else to get it for you.”

Victor raised his eyes and saw Eros standing in the doorway. “What are you doing here?” he asked even as everything inside him turned upside down.

“You tell me. One of your art directors said that you sent for me,” Eros answered coldly. Gone was the smile and the willingness to please. There was no hint of flirting, only a cold business-like air. He stood in the doorway like someone ready to leave at the first opportunity with his arms crossed over his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is me trying to toss several ideas into one fic so that they're done and I don't have to think about them anymore. Hopefully this works.
> 
> This started with the innocent question of "What if Yuuri from Comes Love met Victor from The Devil Wears Gucci?" One of these days I need to stop with the fic crossovers... One of these days... *looks at a clock*
> 
> (A note for any nitpickers out there: despite what happens in The Devil Wears Gucci, in this AU Victor has nothing to do with Victoria’s Secret.)
> 
> Oh yes, and Yuuri's routine is [one of Dita von Teese's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QpvIgfjtgvE), which I already had lots of fun describing in Comes Love Chapter 6...


	2. That “Someone Else”

The first time the strange man came to the flower shop was three years ago. He bought seven deep red roses, the very best of their stock, and left.

He’d been in the back at the time. It was a hot summer day and he’d just started working in the flower shop so he’d had quite a shock when he’d come in from the back for a drink and spotted the strange man paying for his roses. He ducked back into the dark right away.

Had he been seen?

Two days later the strange man returned, but this time he’d been careful. No one ever paid him any attention, but who was to say what the strange man would do if he saw him? So he hid his face.

He wore hats with big brims, facial masks, scarves, something, anything to hide his face.

 _He mustn’t see. He must never see my face,_ the man at the flower shop thought.

He grew beautiful flowers: orchids, lilies, lilacs, but the strange man walked past all of them as if they were mere weeds and always picked out the best seven roses of the deepest velvet red, paid and left, barely sparing the florist a glance.

One day his hat caught on something and flew off. He snatched at his face in panic. _He will see! He will see! What will he do now? What’s going to happen to me now?_

But the strange man wasn’t looking at him. He only had eyes for the deep red velvet roses.

Always red. Always seven.

One day he plucked up the courage (all while wearing a facial mask to cover him up) and asked, “Excuse me, sir. Why seven?”

“Hmm? What?” the strange man asked absently.

“Why do you always buy seven, sir? Just curious, sir,” he repeated as politely as he could.

“Has to be an odd number, doesn’t it?” the man said. “You only get an even number for the dead. And, besides, seven is a nice number.”

“Yes, of course,” the florist said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

A year ago he found out the answer to the question he’d never dared to ask: he saw _who_ the roses were for.

One evening when he was out for a walk he spotted the strange man walking arm in arm with another man and in that moment he knew.

The other man was like a deep red velvet rose himself. It was no wonder the strange man kept buying them for him! He was all smooth and silk. He leaned on the strange man’s arm and looked up into his eyes as if they held the entire world.

They didn’t speak, but whenever they stopped they would exchange a kiss. The strange man picked up the deep red rose man and twirled him around. The red rose man laughed and kissed the other man’s nose.

And the florist felt the sharp, bitter sting of jealousy.

He followed them carefully, despite his fear of the strange man, but only far enough to learn where they lived.

He didn’t stay long enough to see the lights in their windows turn on and for the lovers’ shadows to appear on the curtains.

That night he couldn’t sleep a wink.

Two weeks later the red rose man appeared in the flower shop himself.

The florist was arranging the deep red roses when he felt his hat slip off and fall onto the floor. He was about to pick it up when a hand trailed up his back.

“Hello, handsome,” a voice purred into his ear.

He jumped up in embarrassment. The red rose man was right there and dropping words into his ear!

A finger slid down his cheek and then he felt a kiss pressed against the side of his face. “Kiss me,” the red rose man whispered, letting his lips slide against the cheek as he spoke.

He was all alone in this shop with the red rose man warm against his side. What could he do but turn and give him a kiss?

The red rose man’s lips were warm and delicious. His mouth was hungry for more, but the florist didn’t have more to give.

A hand slipped under his shirt. “Let’s continue somewhere else,” the red rose man whispered.

The florist swallowed nervously.

He knew where the red rose man meant: in that apartment with the strange man. The strange man who he feared more than anything else in the world.

“N…not now,” he gasped out as the rest of him insisted that now was the best time.

The red rose man gave him a surprised look.

“I… um… I have something for you,” the florist said and slipped away to return with a single rose of the deepest red. “I grew this one, thinking of you,” the florist admitted with a blush. “There were two like this, but… well… we only give an even number to the dead.”

The red rose man took it and looked at him. _Really_ looked at him with eyes that were serious and saw straight through to his soul. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I made a mistake.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, lowering his head. “Just don’t… don’t tell him.”

The strange man couldn’t know. He must never know.

The red rose man nodded and left.

But the nights were cold in an empty bed and in the early hours of the morning the wind whispered with the voice of the red rose man. _“Let’s continue somewhere else_. _”_

He dreamt of red roses and hungry mouths.

One morning when he couldn’t take it anymore he put on his best clothes and went to the apartment where the red rose man lived with the strange man.

 

Here it was: his chance, if not to continue what they hadn’t finished, then, at the very least, to find out for certain if there was any hope for him.

But pride overstepped everything else and moved his mouth for him. “I didn’t send for you. There must be some mistake.”

Eros turned away and left.

Victor dropped his head in his hands. He wished he could take it all back. He wished he could run after him and make him stay, make him agree to spend another night with Victor, even if it was just as brief as last time, even if deep inside Victor was convinced that Eros really _was_ married, even if the idea of someone cheating on their partner disgusted him.

His heart shrank at the memory of how cold his apartment was and how empty.

When he finally did get up his feet took him to the window where he could see the crowd waiting for Eros to exit the Elias-Clarke building, hoping to catch another glimpse, however brief, of the famous performer.

_“There’s someone waiting for me…_

Victor turned away angrily from the window.

Why hadn’t they hired someone else? Why had they hired him? He should’ve come up with a different candidate.

He thought he’d gotten over it, that the wound in his heart had healed, but he was wrong. It was still there and still bleeding.

 

Two sleepless nights later he knew he had to see him again and set everything straight. He found a way to get Eros’s exact address (or, to be more exact, got his assistant to do it).

Eros lived in a small town in Switzerland and his real name was Yuuri Katsuki. That was all the assistant managed to dig up and it was all Victor needed to know.

He didn’t waste time deliberating. He didn’t wonder if it was best to forget the whole incident and try to go on somehow. In the space of a few hours Yuuri Katsuki had found a way to wedge himself firmly into Victor’s life and he had to go see him, no matter what happened afterwards.

Yes, he didn’t waste time. Not a single minute in fact.

“I found what you were asking for,” his assistant said, placing a piece of paper on his desk, and walked out of Victor’s office.

Victor picked it up and read the answer to his two questions on it.

He rose from his chair, forgetting about the papers waiting for his review on his desk, and headed out of the office.

“I’m heading out,” Victor announced and the second assistant rushed to fetch his coat. “Book me a ticket to this address,” he told Yuri, giving the piece of paper in his hand a light tap of the finger. He was still holding the paper with the two answers.

His coat on his shoulders, he headed out, knowing it would all be ready: his car downstairs and waiting, his fight booked, a driver arranged for to meet him and a five-star hotel room.

What would he find? What was Eros doing (apart from toying with Victor’s heart)?

What would he, Victor, do when they met?

He tried not to think about what he would do and worried instead about what he would wear.

 

It was a cold morning in October. The sun shone brightly in the sky, but a strong wind blew through the street, robbing him of all his warmth.

The florist rushed on. Something pulled him on and suddenly he wasn’t sure that it was just the thought of seeing the red rose man again.

He had no time to stop and doubt himself and that was probably why he didn’t stop to wait outside and see if, maybe, he would get lucky and the strange man would leave for a while so he could have a conversation with the red rose man alone.

He ran on before he could stop and ask himself what he was doing, tripping through the cobblestone streets of the town, dodging a few cyclists and waving in greeting to a few passersby he met in the street.

The door of the apartment building was locked and he lingered outside, waiting for someone to appear who could let him in.

“Good morning!” He turned at the sound of a woman’s voice. “Is something wrong with the door?” she asked.

He gave her his brightest smile. “Oh no. I just forgot my keys on my table. Do you mind letting me in?” he asked, knowing that it would work. In that moment, any excuse would’ve worked.

“Yes, of course,” she said.

An odd thought crept into his mind as she fished the key out of her purse. _I must always remember to have it with me. I can’t leave it behind at home, or I’ll never get in._

“Here it is!” she said triumphantly and stuck it in the lock.

_What was that? What key?_

He followed her inside, feeling bewildered.

She led the way to the elevator and he followed her in, forgetting completely that he didn’t know where he was going. What floor was he on? What was the apartment number?

“Are you alright?” she asked him.

“Hm? What?”

She smiled wider. “Did you stay out all night drinking again?” She put a hand on his arm. “I know how it feels at that age, but you’re not doing your future self any favours, believe me!”

“Ah! Sorry about this.” He lowered his eyes meekly.

“No need to apologize,” she reassured him, hit several buttons and the doors of the elevator closed. “I’m here if you ever want to talk.”

“Th-thank you.”

He stared at the elevator doors in agony, begging the elevator to open already so that he could get out. Any floor was fine, as long as he didn’t spend a moment longer with this lady.

He tried not to say anything, afraid of giving away the fact that he didn’t belong here at all, that his apartment was on the other side of the town.

As soon as the doors opened he rushed out, wishing her a good day and praying that she wouldn’t follow.

“Have a good day!”

The doors closed and the lady was gone.

He gave a big sigh and walked away.

Somehow he knew he was on the right floor. He could _feel_ it. He closed his eyes and let is feet do the walking.

He wasn’t sure why he was doing this, but since, he reasoned, he had no idea where he was going with his eyes open, closing them wouldn’t make a difference.

For some reason, it didn’t occur to him that he could walk into something, or someone.

But it whether by luck, or other means, this didn’t happen.

And there it was: a simple door from dark oak with the number 77 in gold letters right in the middle and a bit above his head.

He took a deep breath and raised his hand to knock.

Knock.

His heart beat like mad in his chest.

Knock.

He heard the elevator ding two hallways away and panic rose in his chest, making him feel nauseous. Someone was coming!

_Let me in! Oh my god! Let me in right now, please!_

Knock.

There were footsteps in the hall. He turned at the sound of someone coming towards him just as the lock in the door before him clicked.

A figure stepped out into the hallway and into the bright light from one of the windows.

He panicked and turned, getting ready to run into the apartment.

The door was open and a man stood in the doorway.

They stared at each other. Three identical men stared at one another and in that moment they knew without asking that all three of them were named Victor Nikiforov.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re eyeing the ending, thinking “is this going where I think it’s going?” I’m afraid that the answer is yes. Well, probably. I’m not a mind reader, but pretty soon I’ll put up some very wild tags that will spoil the last chapter and this (maybe) plot twist. I mean I have to put the tags up, right?
> 
> And if you have no idea what I mean, that's okay. (I would say I'm sorry, but that would be lying hahaha)


	3. Fool Me Twice

It was no big deal, just a few days apart. No big deal. Not the end of the world.

For others.

For Yuuri Katsuki, the master of seduction, being apart from the love of his life ended up being one giant catastrophe.

He went on a tour of several big cities in the Americas, giving one show in each city. At night he would return to his hotel room and call the wonderful man he was married to.

And then he got to New York City.

The bright lights and tall skyscrapers left him feeling cold and even more homesick that before. He enjoyed life in his quiet town. He liked having a retreat from all the press where he could relax and just be himself, where he could throw the Eros mask off, or wear it depending on his mood.

He went out onto the stage in New York with only the thought that it would all be over soon keeping him going. He smiled and flirted with the audience, like always, but his heart wasn’t really in it.

Afterwards he sat in the dressing room, his head in his hands, on the verge of tears.

“And, so,” he heard a familiar voice say, “I would be very much obliged to you, if you were to let me through so I can express my gratitude to him in person.”

Yuuri was at the door before he’d even thought about getting up.

And, sure enough – there he was, the best man in the whole world.

Victor stood with a bouquet of deep red roses as always in his arms and Yuuri was at his side in an instant, “Good evening, darling,” he said after giving him a kiss, embarrassing Victor as always.

Victor held the flowers out, a shy smile on his face, and Yuuri felt his heart sing. “You always spoil me.”

What a pleasant surprise! He wanted to say. _Why didn’t you warn me you were coming? Oh wait, no, this is even better! This is the best thing anyone’s ever done for me! But you really didn’t have to come all this way for me!_

Victor had a competition the day before, after all, as well as the day after. To fly all this way on the day in between was reckless, but Yuuri didn’t have the heart to scold him. Instead, he showed his appreciation the only way he knew how. “I promise to spoil you in return tonight.”

Victor held out an arm to him. “I know a wonderful place: the best restaurant in all of New York.”

Yuuri suppressed a happy sigh, feeling ready to melt against the steady arm as he slipped his own arm around it. _I’ll go anywhere with you. If you decide to go to the worst part of town, I’ll follow without arguing._ “I’d tell you to lead the way, but I think you want me to get dressed first,” he replied and enjoyed the sight of the blush spreading over his cheeks. _God, you’re so sweet!_ He stroked Victor’s arm tenderly and left to get dressed.

Fatigue and melancholy completely forgotten, Yuuri took his time applying makeup and beautifying himself after what felt like an eternity spent getting dressed. He settled for a really long red dress, matching the hue of the roses Victor had bought for him.

He swept out of the dressing room, the dress curling around his figure, ready for a night of love.

The love of his life held out a hand to take his and Yuuri lost himself in those eyes. He didn’t see any of the journey there. He wasn’t even in the right state of mind to appreciate the dinner.

He leaned against the table and listened to Victor talk. He talked about wines and Yuuri took it all in, not really listening to the words, just to the sound of dear Victor’s voice.

He let his knee brush against Victor’s. “My darling,” he whispered after a while, lowering his hand onto Victor’s, “dance with me.”

He watched Victor hesitate and rose to his feet to beckon him with his fingers.

Slow, tender music played as Yuuri held on to him. _Take me now,_ he suddenly thought. _I’ve been lonely too long. Who cares about dinner or dancing? Just say you love me and hold me tight._

He leaned forward, pressing his cheek lightly against Victor’s. His eyes were closed and he thought back to their other slow dances, to the way Victor had won him over with a whole year’s worth of a dedication that never demanded anything in return. He was just always there, steady and reliable.

And Yuuri who’d had lovers before, but never really believed in the idea of a true love, fell in deep. The master of seduction fell head over heels for a man who’d only known how to love from afar, who didn’t know any of the tricks that Yuuri did, who only had his natural charm to rely on.

Yuuri pulled away and gave Victor that “take me” look that didn’t need any words.

Victor smiled. “May I invite you to my penthouse suite?”

The words weren’t right, in fact, a voice somewhere in the back of Yuuri’s mind told him something was wrong, but he was too smitten to listen to it. “You have a penthouse suite in New York?” he asked, giving Victor a smile.

“I do.”

And Yuuri didn’t think “that’s odd, you never mentioned it before,” which might’ve changed the way the rest of the night went. No, he accepted it without argument.

He let Victor take him home, or to _a_ home, anyway. He had no patience for their usual flirting, no time for sneaking kisses in the kitchen over a late night glass of wine, or of rolling up on the couch to watch something side by side. He followed Victor into the bedroom and lowered him onto the bed as they shared a kiss as heady as wine.

Yuuri sat up and took his time unbuttoning Victor’s shirt. Victor liked expensive clothing and, so, Yuuri knew he had to be careful when he undressed him (especially after having seen the expression on Victor’s face after one particularly passionate night that started with Yuuri tearing his clothes off). Shirt, pants, underwear and, finally, Victor lay completely naked below him, his eyes soft.

Yuuri raised Victor’s right hand to his lips and planted several gentle kisses on each knuckle. He got to the third finger and froze. There was no ring on Victor’s finger.

Victor lay with his eyes closed as panic fluttered in Yuuri’s chest.

No ring.

His dear, loving husband wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. Was this some sort of silent protest at their secret marriage, at the fact that Yuuri rarely wore his?

But, no, Victor wasn’t the type to do something like that.

Victor opened his eyes and stared at him in surprise, but Yuuri went on studying Victor’s hands.

Except these _weren’t_ Victor’s hands.

He’d spent lazy afternoons studying those hands, _worshiping_ them.

He looked down at the man lying before him. Gone was the scar on his side (the reminder of an old wound) and even the muscles under the skin were subtly wrong.

This wasn’t Victor.

And then he realized that he was in bed with a complete stranger, who just happened to look just like his husband. _Oh god! I’m in a stranger’s bed and he’s naked and I’m almost naked too!_

The man who looked just like Victor continued to watch everything Yuuri was doing. “Is something wrong?” the stranger asked.

“Nothing.” He responded, falling back on flirting like a tried and tested line of defence. “Just admiring how beautiful you are.”

He had to leave, he told himself, but how could he do it now?

Maybe Yuuri was going mad and this _was_ Victor before him. He looked the same as his Victor! Almost exactly the same!

Yuuri leaned forward and slid his hands over the stranger’s face. “But then again,” he whispered, “people probably tell you this all the time. A man like you must have a lot of admirers. And lovers,” he added in a softer tone of voice.

The man took it all in his stride. “Yes,” he whispered back.

As soon as Yuuri saw the confirmation in the man’s face he knew.

This wasn’t Victor. Not _his_ Victor, anyway. His Victor had never had sex, heck, he’d never had _lovers_ before Yuuri.

He faltered. He wanted to get up and run, but he was still in the stranger’s house and even with the man under him how fast could Yuuri get out of here? Would he call someone for help?

 _I’ll just give him what he wants and go,_ Yuuri thought. _Laugh it off, slip away. He’s had many lovers, he knows how this sort of thing goes._

He tried not to laugh as he realized that he’d fallen into an old stereotype.

“Top drawer,” the stranger said, no doubt getting impatient.

Yuuri crossed the room for the contents of the top drawer. There was the bottle, alright, and a pile of little packages that he’d somehow forgotten existed.

When was the last time he’d used one of these?

His heart beat fast. His whole body trembled. He returned to the bed and let the stranger kiss him. He longed to go home.

 _I want Victor,_ he thought even as he pulled his thong off. _I want –_

The stranger grabbed hold of him and… It wasn’t fair! His lips felt like Victor’s against Yuuri’s stomach.

Yuuri’s own hands buried themselves in the stranger’s hair.

If he closed his eyes he could forget where he was. He could imagine he was back home with his dear Victor, his wonderful husband.

A moan escaped his lips. He felt hands slide over his hips as the stranger’s lips worked their way down and Yuuri couldn’t stop himself from mentally urging him onwards.

Then he pulled away and laughed, holding the bottle up in his hand. “Care to do the honours?”

Oh, right.

Yuuri’s hands shook as he picked the first package up. They only needed one, if Yuuri left right away, but he opened two anyway and watched the stranger’s reaction as he slipped it on.

He dropped down onto the pillow, letting Yuuri do whatever he liked after that. Yuuri climbed after him, trying not to think of the lonely figure skater in the middle of Europe, waiting for him to come home.

It was like something out of a twisted nightmare: the naked stranger under him with Victor’s face gasping for breath like Yuuri had seen Victor gasp oh-so-many times.

He left as quickly as he could once he finished, staying behind only long enough to take a shower.

As he walked out of the room the stranger turned his back to him and slept as if that was it and nothing more was needed.

And Yuuri was convinced that the stranger wouldn’t care at all if they never saw each other again.

He almost forgot about the whole incident until a whole two years passed and a magazine invited him to advertise lingerie for Victoria’s Secret.

The fashion editor’s assistant called him when he was at home alone. As soon as he heard the editor’s name Yuuri knew his past was back to haunt him.

He dropped into a chair and opened his mouth to decline the job.

And then the assistant told him what the pay would be.

 _It’s just modeling. I go over there. I act as if nothing happened and I leave. It will be fine,_ he tried to tell himself.

And, so, with a heavy heart, he accepted.

Everything went as planned. He and this Victor acted as if they were complete strangers and it almost ended there. Almost.

Until a tall man with short blond hair and round glasses introduced himself as an art director and told him that the editor needed to speak to him in his office.

 _No, no, no, no!_ he panicked. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest, but the smile on his lips remained and he thanked the man before getting dressed and going upstairs to the editor’s office, bracing himself for the worst.

Even then he wasn’t ready for the words he heard as soon as he entered the office.

"Ah, Yuri,” the editor said without even bothering to look up from his desk, “coffee would be most welcome right now.”

 _I’m not your errand boy!_ “If you want coffee, you’ll have to find someone else to get it for you,” he said coldly, amazed by the audacity of the request.

Victor raised his eyes. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“You tell me,” Yuuri shot back. “One of your art directors said that you sent for me.” He waited with his arms crossed, ready for a verbal fight, if it happened.

“I didn’t send for you. There must be some mistake,” the editor said, his expression as cold as ice.

What could he say to that? And, happy that this was it, he left, hoping like mad that this would be the last time he ever saw Victor Nikiforov, editor of _Runway_.

 

Everything was fine and life went on as normal in their quiet Swiss town. That is, until he ran into the florist.

One day when out for a walk on his own he caught sight of Victor in a flower shop and slipped up to him, hoping to surprise him. “Kiss me,” he whispered and leaned in for a kiss himself.

Yuuri didn’t expect him to tremble, or for his face to turn the same shade of red as the roses he was looking at. But when Yuuri prepared to pull away, Victor held on.

“Let’s continue somewhere else,” Yuuri whispered, breaking the kiss at last and wondering if he’d just caught his husband off guard. He let his hand slip under Victor’s shirt, forgetting where they were for a moment.

“N…not now,” Victor gasped out and Yuuri gaped at him before remembering that it was still the middle of the day and that waiting for the evening to come was probably a good idea.

He backed off, wondering if he should apologize.

“I… um… I have something for you,” Victor said and slipped away to return with a single rose of the deepest red. “I grew this one, thinking of you,” he admitted with a blush. “There were two like this, but… well… we only give an even number to the dead.”

And Yuuri felt realization dawn.

This wasn’t his Victor either.

How was he supposed to know that there were three people who looked identical to each other? After running into the editor of _Runway_ he was definitely not prepared to run into _another_ person who looked like Victor. How many of them were there? Was this it? Were they triplets?

He needed to ask Victor, but how on Earth could he ask a question like that?

So what _could_ he do?

 _Avoid them,_ he decided. _I’ll just avoid both of them as much as I can and maybe we’ll never see each other again and everything will be alright._

But Fate had other plans.

 

Yuuri woke up from the sound of someone hammering like mad on the door. “Mmm… is that…?” he mumbled, rolling over and then rolling back to rest his head on Victor’s chest.

“I’ll go see who that is,” he heard Victor say through the fog of sleep and forgot about it right away.

Victor kissed him and Yuuri sank back into blissful sleep. He dreamt about his husband smiling at him, and the sun shining down over them, and it was so warm, and….

“Hmm…” Yuuri reached out for said husband while most of him was still asleep, only to snatch at empty air.

He sat up sharply. He could hear Victor talking to someone in what sounded like another room, but couldn’t discern a single word.

Was something wrong? Who on Earth was barging in on them so early in the morning? He threw a look at the clock on the wall and amended his thought to “early in the afternoon”. It was one of their lazy sleep-in mornings after they’d stayed up late the night before.

Silence stretched out forever, unbroken by the sound of a door closing, or even footsteps coming down the hall. Nothing but silence.

He should go see what’s going on, he told himself, but he really didn’t want to get up. He was barely awake, and completely naked too.

With a resigned sigh he pulled himself out of bed, threw on a bathrobe and went to see why Victor wasn’t coming back.

As soon as Yuuri saw what was happening he slipped behind a door to watch as panic twisted his insides.

Three Victors stood in the doorway, staring at each other in stunned silence.

“I… uh…” one of them began and Yuuri suspected that he was the florist. “I’m sorry… uh…” He stepped back. “I don’t know why I came here…” He backed away further. “Wrong… uh… wrong address… My mistake…”

The best-dressed Victor of the three (that had to be the editor, Yuuri reasoned) stood with a thoughtful expression on his face. “This does explain a few things…”

His Victor had his back to Yuuri and the performer wished he could see the look on his face.

“Are there any more?” the editor asked. “Like us, I mean?”

The florist froze with an expression of pure terror on his face.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri’s Victor said. “But I can’t help feeling that it’s just us.”

“We um… We didn’t… Nothing happened!” the florist exclaimed, getting ready to make a run for it.

The editor caught him by the arm. “There’s no need to be so afraid,” he said.

“I definitely didn’t kiss your husband!” the florist exclaimed. “And I … I’ve never met either of you! You’re both complete strangers!”

“Calm down,” Yuuri’s Victor said soothingly. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

The florist closed his eyes and breathed out. Yuuri’s Victor approached him carefully before putting an arm around his shoulders. The florist shuddered, but remained where he was.

“Your husband mistook me for you,” the editor said and they turned to look at him, “and had sex with me.”

Yuuri bit his lip, fighting down the urge to swear out loud.

“Is that so?” his Victor asked. “Is that why you’re here?”

“In a way,” the editor admitted. “Mostly I came here for answers. I wanted to understand what happened. Now that I do, I can go. Good luck. I’ll do my best to stay out of your way and I’m sure you’ll do the same.”

So he cared after all and he’d come all this way to find Yuuri. As did the florist, despite his big fear of Yuuri’s husband. They were all here to see him.

Three Victors. It was enough to make anyone’s head turn.

“Or,” Yuuri cut into their conversation, slipping out into the hallway as an audacious idea dawned on him, “or you can stay.” He gave them all a smile as they turned at the sound of his voice. “All of you.”

“I’m sorry, Victor,” he went on, giving three apologies with one simple phrase. “I made a mistake.” He turned and looked at his husband. “Will you forgive me?”

Victor, his Victor, his dear husband and the love of his life, kissed Yuuri’s hand. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

“So…” Yuuri turned to take in the other two, “are you triplets?”

“No,” his Victor said, reaching out to put an arm around his waist, “I think we actually _are_ the same person, but I’m not sure I can explain how.”

Yuuri gave him a wicked grin. He knew he was in a bathrobe and that his hair was dishevelled from sleep and that he had that very definite look of someone who’d just crawled out of bed, but he was ready to use it to its full potential. “You all came for me,” he said to the two other Victors.

The florist swallowed nervously as the bathrobe slipped off Yuuri’s shoulder.

“And I’m very grateful for your attention,” Yuuri went on, stepping away from Victor to rest a hand briefly on the editor’s shoulder and then on the florist’s cheek. “Will you let me show you my gratitude?”

The florist was a deep red all the way to the tips of his ears. He stammered out something incoherent.

Yuuri smiled wider and turned to look at the editor. “There’s no need to be shy,” he told the man and gave him a look that made the confident expression fade from his face.

He looked back at his Victor. “What do you say to that, Victor?”

Victor kissed his hand. “You can have whatever your heart desires, Yuuri. I would be honoured to spend the day worshipping you.”

The seductive façade melted and Yuuri raised Victor’s hand, kissing the wedding ring in response. His own ring was back on his finger. “Then take me,” he said softly.

Victor pulled him into an embrace. “But first things first,” he said and released Yuuri. “I think we owe our guests a bit of hospitality.”

Yuuri laughed.

 

There were no words to describe that day, Victor, the editor of _Runway_ concluded. He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d expected, but having breakfast with two other versions of him definitely wasn’t on the list.

Eros – no _Yuuri_ – sat at the table with a cup of tea in his hand and a smile on his face, listening to the other Victor talk about his upcoming competition. This Victor was a world-famous figure skater. The editor wondered how he’d never heard of him before.

They then gave all their attention to the florist. He’d arrived with flowers, of course. At first glance the editor took him for just some sort of errand boy who happened to work at a flower shop, now he found himself actually fascinated by his stories about flowers.

His turn came, of course, and he told them about fashion. He didn’t spare any charm when he talked about his profession and then promised to design something for Yuuri that he could wear at his next performance and which would be easy to slip in and out of.

The performer’s eyes shone excitedly. He then invited Victor to his closet to show off what even Victor had to admit was an impressive collection of lingerie.

He could really feel their love for each other now, how truly devoted Yuuri was to Victor. The feeling was so strong it was sweeping him off his feet and pulling him in. Yuuri must’ve felt the same pull in response, because at some point during the day he’d fallen into an informal tone with him, speaking as if they were old friends.

Evening caught them by surprise. The four of them sat together in the dining room eating as nonchalantly as possible.

Victor turned to ask Yuuri something and realized that his seat was empty. Somehow, between avoiding each other’s stares, they managed to miss when the performer had vanished.

 

Victor, the living legend of figure skating, knew what to expect as soon as he realized that Yuuri was gone from his seat. They’d sat together with the lights all turned off and only the candles burning on the table.

He felt a hand slide over his chest and under his jacket and gasped.

The other two Victors turned to stare at him.

Yuuri slipped around him, pushed the dish out of his way and there he was – sitting on the table in front of Victor, his legs spread apart. He reclined onto one arm and drank the remains of the wine in Victor’s glass.

Victor swallowed. He didn’t need to look at any of his guests to know that they were all reacting in the same way to Yuuri’s sudden reappearance.

Yuuri was in a red corset tied with black ribbons. There was white lace sewn into the top, but Victor didn’t notice this detail until much later. His eyes were on the black lace underwear Yuuri was wearing.

He slipped off the table and onto Victor’s lap, as if he was just sitting in a chair.

Every Victor in the room stared at Yuuri in stunned silence.

“Well,” Yuuri said, picking up Victor’s fork from the table, “I can’t remember the last time I had an audience like this.” He licked the fork slowly and for the first time in his life Victor wished Yuuri _wasn’t_ sitting in his lap.

No one moved. They barely dared to breathe.

Yuuri leaned forward and rested his chin in his hand. “I’m in such polite company today. Everyone seems to be waiting for an invitation.” He climbed onto the table, despite the really high heels, the really sheer stockings and the garter belts holding them up.

“I think I tore one of the stockings,” Yuuri said and raised one leg, craning back for a look at the back of his leg.

“Yuuri,” Victor said in a choked voice, “don’t…” he swallowed as Yuuri turned to look at him. He could feel the eyes of one of the Victors on him while the other stared up at Yuuri in amazement. “Don’t,” he tried a second time, “strip: we’ll undress you.”

He watched Yuuri smile. “Now you’re speaking my language.” He turned and climbed off the table, placing one leg right between the editor’s thighs.

Victor jumped up from his chair and caught Yuuri’s hand to help him get down.

The editor looked ready to faint and Victor didn’t blame him. In their five years of marriage Yuuri still had the same effect on him as he’d had when they first met.

The florist ran to them to help Yuuri get down and found his arms full of Yuuri before he’d realized what was happening.

Yuuri laughed and caught his mouth in a kiss, wrapping his arms around the florist’s neck.

 

He was too much for them, Yuuri thought as his tongue entered the florist’s mouth. One Yuuri was too much for three Victors to handle. He pulled away, preparing to dial his appeal down and gasped.

Victor’s fingers were sliding up his inner thigh, both inner thighs.

He turned to see his husband on his knees on one side of him and the editor – on the other side. Both Victors were trailing fingers up his thighs and undoing the clasps that held his stockings up.

Now there were four hands on his thighs. Fingers slipped under his stockings and pulled them down gently.

Yuuri smiled at the florist. “My husband always knows what I like best,” he confided in the third Victor.

The florist gave him a weak smile. “Um… what am I supposed to be doing?”

“Me,” Yuuri whispered and laughed.

Yuuri watched his husband raise one of Yuuri’s feet to place it reverentially onto his thigh and unbuckle his shoe and smiled.

While both Victors pulled Yuuri’s stockings all the way down, taking their time, Yuuri put the florist’s hands on his waist and slid them up over his chest.

He’d learned long ago to dress in fabrics that felt good to the touch.

He closed his eyes and reclined his head onto a shoulder as six hands worked their different ways over him.

The two Victors on their knees before him kissed each of Yuuri’s feet before putting his shoes back on and buckling them again.

Yuuri breathed heavily as he felt hands slide up his legs. Once they reached his inner thighs a moan escaped his lips.

The hands on his chest slid down and under his lace underwear. Four hands came up, over his inner thighs and hips and slipped into his underwear from below.

Yuuri opened his eyes and gasped, as something like electricity shot up his spine.

“I think Yuuri wants one of us to pull it off with his teeth,” a Victor whispered.

“Do you think the three of us could do it together?” another whispered back.

“I’m willing to give it a try.”

“Um…” that was the florist. He was nervous, Yuuri could feel it. He wondered if this was his first time. As first times went, this was turning out to be really wild.

“Do you want to switch places with me?” that was the husband.

Yuuri said nothing as they did just that. And then he felt three hungry mouths make a grab for the top of his underwear, teeth sliding over his skin, sending more sensations up his spine. His husband got the best place: in the middle of the back.

He wasn’t ready for the sensations that followed. The underwear went down really slowly.

“Just…” he gasped out. “Just tear it off! I’ll buy a new pair!”

But they kept going.

They only let go when it was halfway down his thighs and then they let it fall on the floor.

“Well,” Yuuri said, smiling down at them. “Who wants to go first?” He put his hands on his waist and did his best to look like he was in control, but he was still gasping for breath.

Victor’s hands slid over Yuuri’s buttocks. “Are you comfortable standing up, Yuuri?”

“I’m comfortable wherever you want me,” Yuuri told him.

Victor’s hands gripped Yuuri by the hips as he leaned forward and kissed the small of Yuuri’s back. In front of Yuuri, two Victors kissed his hips.

Yuuri was in heaven. He gasped loudly and pulled his hands through the hair of one of the Victors in front of him.

But his knees trembled and he wasn’t sure how long he could remain standing, not on heels anyway.

“Bedroom…” Yuuri whispered weakly. “Take me…”

His husband pulled away from the fascinating spot in the middle of Yuuri’s backside and, to the surprise of the other two Victors, picked Yuuri up in his arms to carry him into the bedroom.

“Tonight,” Yuuri whispered, “I may be overwhelmed for the first time in my life. What do you think?”

Victor smiled at him. “I will do my best.”

He lowered Yuuri onto the bed and six hands made a grab for the lacing in his corset. His husband crawled onto Yuuri’s knees.

Yuuri held up his hand. “Before we do anything else, I want to undress you,” he reclined onto his elbows, “all of you.” He gave them a smile and watched all the Victors swallow nervously.

Not giving them another moment to think or draw breath, Yuuri sat up and trailed a finger down his husband’s nose. “I’ll start with you, handsome.”

The other two Victors sat on either side of them, mouths open as they watched.

There was an old trick that Yuuri had learned long ago: one minute Victor was sitting on his knees – the next Yuuri was the one sitting on Victor’s knees. He half turned away and made a grab for Victor’s tie. Yuuri licked the bottom of it, giving him a wink over one shoulder.

Victor’s mouth dropped open.

Yuuri bit into the tie with his eyes closed, pulling on it. He turned slowly and let his mouth work along the side of the tie up to Victor’s neck, advancing towards him as Victor dropped lower and lower down.

Yuuri’s hands were on Victor’s chest. There was no way of undoing Victor’s tie with his teeth, but that didn’t matter. His mouth moved on to Victor’s neck as he worked the tie loose with his fingers.

“So many buttons,” Yuuri whispered into Victor’s ear as he undid them, “so many _little_ buttons.” His hands worked their way down impatiently. He got to the last one and pulled the shirt apart.

“Aha!” He sat up and smiled at Victor’s bare chest.

“Y-Yuuri…” Victor stammered out.

Yuuri leaned down as if he was about to kiss Victor’s chest, but instead his hands took a hold of Victor’s belt, unbuckling it with one quick movement.

Usually he took his time, teasing Victor, getting him all worked up before he even unzipped his pants, but that didn’t matter this time. He tossed the clothes aside, making an annoyed sound and then watched Victor’s reaction to his impatience.

He put his hands over his face. “Yuuri…” he breathed out.

 _You’re ready for me, aren’t you?_ he thought. _But I have another two boys to think about._

“Do you think you can wait for me a little longer?” he whispered, leaning down over Victor’s ear and sliding a finger over the side of his face.

He didn’t wait for Victor to say anything, just pounced on the next Victor. And it really was a pounce.

He undressed all of them with the same speed and the same determination, letting his hands wander over each of their bodies.

He left a tie around the neck of the editor and trailed his fingers playfully over it all while sitting on his husband’s lap. Victor’s hands were on his waist.

The florist was on the bed next to them, Yuuri’s hand in both of his. He was planting gentle kisses on it, gradually moving up, slowly getting bolder.

Yuuri wondered how to encourage him.

The other two Victors, on the other hand, didn’t need any encouragement. His husband brushed his hair aside and kissed the back of his head, moving on to the spot just behind Yuuri’s ear. The editor spread Yuuri’s legs and slipped in between them.

“I want to finish what we started,” he said softly, a hand resting on Yuuri’s thigh. “What do you say to that, _Eros_?”

Yuuri nodded with a smile. “Why not?” he asked, as if they were sitting in a restaurant and flirting on their first, or second date, as if he wasn’t sitting on a bed between his husband’s thighs while a man who looked exactly like said husband was in between Yuuri’s thighs with a very determined look on his face.

The editor pressed his mouth against Yuuri’s thigh and worked his way closer.

“Victor…” Yuuri moaned, reclining his head onto the shoulder of the Victor behind him.

There were hands on his stomach and they travelled up to his chest. There were hands on his thighs, keeping his legs spread apart. And there was a third pair of hands on his arm.

“Yuuri…” one of the Victors whispered and planted a kiss in the middle of his chest.

“A little to the left,” Yuuri breathed out. “A little more…” he whispered after a while. “Just a little…” he was running out of breath really fast now.

A pair of lips brushed against one of his nipples and he let out a sigh.

If only there was a way to stay like this forever, he thought and smiled. “I’m going to…” he gasped out, “ride each of you…”

The editor released him. “Really?”

“Do you doubt I can do it?” Yuuri asked as the florist released him. Yuuri gripped his hand and pulled the florist closer. He still held the end of the editor’s tie in his other hand and pulled on it gently. “I can feel my husband getting really excited and _very_ impatient, so I’ll have to do him first,” he said, giving them both a wicked smile.

They exchanged a look and climbed over Yuuri with a laugh, making him tumble back.

“As if we’ll let you off that easily!” the editor whispered into Yuuri’s ear.

Everyone was clinging to him now from all sides. He could feel their hands, wandering over his body and rubbing gently in some places, or making a grab for others.

He trailed his hands down their backs and thought of the Victor under him. “Now,” he said softly, “who is ready to play with me tonight?”

They kissed his face, and neck, and shoulders. Someone’s knee worked its way right between his legs. All three of them were determined not to let him go.

He laughed. “Alright, alright. In that case, I have a better idea.”

They released him and he sat up and gave them one of his smiles. “I will be right back,” he promised and left the room.

For a moment he paused right outside the doorway and listened to the sound of three people trying to catch their breath. A smile spread over his face and he slipped away down the hall.

He returned five minutes later with a pile of things in his hands.

“What is that?” one of the Victors asked, siting up. Now they were all naked it was harder to tell them apart, but Yuuri was pretty sure this was the editor (even though he’d tossed his tie off).

Yuuri dropped the pile onto the bed. “What I want you three to wear.”

“Wear? Why are you dressing us now?” that was his husband.

“Not exactly _dressing_ ,” Yuuri clarified and held up one of the objects. It was a body harness that was nothing more than criss-crossing straps. It circled around the legs and made no attempt to cover anything. The next item was a harness that looked like a dozen golden necklaces. The last was just straps and flowers.

They picked out the ones he expected them to.

“What will you wear?” his husband asked, getting ready to put the first body harness on.

“I’m already wearing everything I need, aren’t I?” Yuuri said, dropping onto the pillows and smiling at the sight of three Victors pulling the harnesses on. “I’ve got lipstick and a pair of heels. What more is there?”

He toyed and flirted with them afterwards and got exactly what he wanted in the end, making jokes about his stamina. They curled up next to him afterwards, turning into a giant pile of bodies and Yuuri smiled as he closed his eyes.

This was definitely heaven, he decided, planting a kiss on a bare back. His last thought before he drifted off was that tomorrow he would get them all to wear lipstick and demand all the kisses he could get. Maybe he could even make a contest out of it…

 

There was a small tear in the fabric of space-time. There was no knowing where it had come from. It was barely noticeable and yet, it had taken one life and split it into three. That night it folded in on itself in the four dimensional equivalent of a kind of Band-Aid.

 

Yuuri turned over in his sleep and buried his face in a chest. “Hmmm…” He rubbed his nose against bare skin affectionately.

A hand stroked his shoulder. “Good morning, my love,” Victor whispered.

“Hmmm…” He curled around the body next to him, arms and legs wrapped around it tightly. “Morning…” he mumbled and opened his eyes. “Morning…” He reached around him, but met nothing but empty space behind him. His eyes snapped open and he released Victor to turn around in the bed.

There was only one Victor in bed with him now.

“Where did they go?” he asked.

“They’re gone,” Victor answered.

Yuuri turned over to face him. “What? Just like that? Without a goodbye?”

“I don’t think they had a choice.” He slid his hand over Yuuri’s cheek. “There weren’t supposed to be three of me. It was a kind of… mistake.” He saw the expression on Yuuri’s face and chuckled. “But it’s fixed now. There’s only one of me left.”

Yuuri tried to understand, but couldn’t. “Where did they go?”

“In here.” Victor put a hand over his heart. “I have their memories now.”

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” Yuuri gasped out. “I thought they could all stay here with us,” he admitted.

“How were you going to live with 3 versions of me?” Victor asked with a chuckle.

Yuuri pulled away and dropped onto one of the pillows with one eyebrow raised. “Do you think I wouldn’t be able to keep you all satisfied?”

Victor raised one of Yuuri’s hands to his lips. “Last night the three of us didn’t doubt that for a single instant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in a year and three months of writing YOI fic I went from innocent, G-rated Victor/Yuuri, to mature Victor/Yuuri, to slightly explicit Victor/Yuuri, to explicit Yuuri/Victor/Yuuri, to explicit Victor/Victor/Yuuri/Victor. …Dare I ask what will be next? …oh wait, I know the answer to that question! Historical AUs!!
> 
> The bit with the tie was inspired by [this wonderful art](http://witharthurkirkland.tumblr.com/post/170960810578/maimerart-bonus-under-the-cut-keep).


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